PORTRAIT

It was early morning. Sonia was waiting for the train. She was wearing her hair in a simple plait, so her face looked rather childish and naive. Grey dress, shoes without heels – a proper school uniform, sans colors, sans smile, sans everything… Only a white silk scarf spoiled the whole image – a white scarf flapping in the morning breeze.

Suddenly she caught sight of a stranger. A tall young man with a lot of bags and parcels, wearing loud blue clothes. He was staring at the girl without even a shade of embarrassment. Sonia decided to hide her face and tried to read a usual magazine; she flicked idly through the articles, feeling the attentive sight of a strange young man. Suddenly the thin pages flipped over in the wind and she could meet the fixed look of “this awful guy”.

- Why do you look at me all the time? – She asked straightly.
- You are very beautiful, girl. You are very sensitive like this flower, - He was turning a fresh white rose in his hands, - but you are trying to hide you nature, you are afraid, I… don’t know why, of what…
- Nonsense, - but her voice was rather sad than angry.
- I think you must have your portrait painted!
- What?
- A portrait, a portrait, a portrait, – he was singing happily.
- You are… a fool!

Almost crying she burst into a hard-seated carriage.
And only her white scarf was angrily flapping in the wind.

Sonia arrived at midday. The sunny streets welcomed her blinking their traffic lights. The green shawl of spring covered gently the black wastes of the trees. It was a happy day… Happy day full of pink and white flowers… Flowers that were the sign of new life, which begins every spring.

There was plenty of work to do. Sonia was an ordinary secretary. Well, it is better to say that she was a queen of papers. She has always wanted to become a queen, a princess, an actress at worst, but only the papers of the very important people gave her that opportunity. So she restrained her pride… Pride… Probably it was just a strong wish for freedom, who knows? It was a difficult question for Sonia and it made her feel sick at heart.

And only her free white silk scarf was flying happily in the blue spring air.

Suddenly the door of the cafe opened and caught the end of Sonia’s scarf. And as suddenly she decided to go and drink a cup of cappuccino instead of ruling the papers of the very important people.

The girl was sitting in the easy chair, a cup of coffee on the table, a usual magazine in her hands and the papers in her bag. She was watching a nice family scene right in front of her – happy parents and their two naughty children. The couple was talking about their little family business. Sonia guessed that they owned a cheese shop at the corner of the street. She got used to such talks, but the children were getting more and more bored, so she began to play with them catching sunbeams with her mirror. And Sonia laughed because a sunbeam touched her cheek tenderly and looked deeply into her blue eyes.

Sonia was happy and she ran up the hill, her arms flailing in the air.

And only her white silk scarf was flowing, carried by the stream of sunlight after her.

Sonia decided to have her portrait painted. That young man was probably right…

She flung out of the metro. She climbed the stairs. She found herself in a large square crowded by tourists and painters with their palettes and canvases. And she was embarrassed. And she was almost crying.

Sonia didn’t know any of the painters but she knew that somewhere there was her future, her new life, her spring and, probably, her happiness. And suddenly Sonia’s silk scarf flew up as if it had decided to free itself and was caught by a man.

A white scarf was flapping angrily in the hands of a painter trying to escape from his embrace.

A painter… Sonia looked at him… He had black eyes – the eyes of a raven – and white hair. White and black, negro y blanco … A smile flicked across her face. He flourished her white silk scarf. It was her painter.

Sonia was sitting calmly with her clear blue eyes fixed on the white flowers of the lilac. She was beautiful and fragile like a breath of spring. The painter took his crayons – pink, blue, green, grey, and orange – the most gentle colors he could find. Sonia was happy for the first time since her early childhood. And it was real happiness, a kind of feeling when you can hear Pachelbel playing his Canon.

And the white silk scarf was fluttering slowly in the sunshine.

It was the white scarf…

It was the white silk scarf that spoiled everything. He couldn’t paint it. The bright white color was capricious and stubbornly resisted his efforts. Thin lines, gentle colors, a beautiful girl and a white spot on the canvas. He was almost on the point of bursting into tears.

And there was silence. And only the white scarf was flapping fiercely and beating against the girl’s face.

Suddenly the painter tore the canvas to pieces. He took a flame-colored pencil. The red spots and the bold lines – chaos on the paper, chaos in his heart… He drowned in his painting. He was creating something new, the future. And the only thing he could hear was the flapping of the white scarf. But he already managed to create the image of a free and happy girl wearing the silk scarf.

He was a good painter and he accomplished his task. But when he held up his head there was no Sonia sitting calmly with her clear blue eyes fixed on the white flowers of lilac and only the white scarf was flying freely and happily above the trees.

The white silk scarf was flying in the blue spring sky, flying towards happiness, probably.